Laird of Secrets (The Whisky Lairds, Book 2): Historical Scottish Romance (The Whisky Lairds Series)

by Susan King

  Where this slim corridor would lead, she could not say. She wanted to get the children away, no longer bargaining pieces for Eldin. As for the earl, Dougal and the others would deal with him.

  “There is light ahead, Miss MacCarran,” Annabel called, pointing. They were walking sideways now, the passage that narrow as they edged along with their backs to the wall, their feet constantly wet.

  Looking ahead, she saw a pale blue light filtering ahead. Though the channel was almost impossibly narrow, they slid and pushed and managed to pass through, step by sliding step. As the outer light grew stronger, she saw more than the glisten of wet limestone walls. She saw the unmistakable gleam of gold.

  As they edged along, the water became a stronger flow. Jamie said the loch would crash down over them any moment, making the girls whimper. But something in his voice made Fiona smile, even in so odd a place and time for it. Jamie, she realized, was not afraid. He was teasing the lassies and enjoying it.

  “The loch is not overhead in this section,” she told them. “The passageway through the rock is going upward, see. We will be above the level of the loch by now. Climb with me, now, and go carefully.”

  “We are walking through a stream,” Lucy said. “My feet are wet.”

  “Mine too. You will be fine,” Jamie said. “I will take care of you. And then I will come back and mine all this gold—it is gold, is it not, Miss Fiona?”

  “Aye, Jamie. And the stream rushes right through where the ore is locatedt. The water might even carry the flavor of gold.” And bring gold to the laird, and his whisky, and and so to the glen, she thought.

  “It would make excellent whisky,” Lucy said. “We must tell Uncle Dougal.”

  “We will,” Fiona said, and then paused, laughing softly when she realized how close they were now to finding an exit. “Look!”

  Ahead on the upward slope, she saw the gleam of water, a shining pool that rushed, whirled, gathered, and at its center bubbled so riotously that it propelled upward toward the rock ceiling close above it, and surged through an opening there. A fountain drawn from an underground pool.

  “Water does not flow upward,” Annabel said. “How can it be?”

  “A well!” Fiona said. “An Artesian well. It bubbles up from below, and bursts out like a fountain. There must be a heated spring beneath it,for it to bubble like that, and push outward into the hillside as a well. Come on, and watch your step. We will have to go through the water to get out.”

  Closer now to the natural exit, she peered through the fountain’s opening. Bright sunset colors glowed purple and red and amber. She could see thick grass edging the hole in the rock and earth.

  “Hold your breath!” she told the children, and assisted them as they climbed into the small pool—warm indeed, and the water rushing, but not very deep, so long as she kept them away from the center, where the water whirled its heaviest. One by one she lifted them upward, and each child clung to the rock edge so that she could push each through, where the water bubbled outward.

  Small hands reached down through the water as she came through the tight opening herself, soaked and laughing. For a moment Fiona realized it was like being birthed into a new life, a new place. Being birthed into beautiful, peaceful Glen Kinloch.

  And here, she knew as she stepped out, she would always stay.

  Standing, she smoothed her drenched skirts best she could, and laughed as the children did the same, their clothing and hair hopelessly soaked. “Come here,” she said, gathering them, and they shivered together, though the air thankfully was not very cold. The water bubbling in the little well was quite warm, and the very excitement of what was happening warmed them further.

  “Look,” Lucy said. “Oh, look! Bluebells!”

  Fiona looked around then, and saw them. Bluebells, thousands of them in full bloom, covered the ground in a wide swath, a haze of purple-blue that poured through a stand of trees. She caught her breath. It was the most beautiful sight she had ever seen.

  “This water will make a fine whisky, with the flavor of the gold and the bluebells,” Lucy said.

  “You will be a very fine distiller when you grow up, Miss Lucy MacGregor,” Fiona said, smiling. “And this place makes the very finest fairy brew, I suspect,” she mused.

  This had to be the secret, protected place, she thought, slowing spinning around, where Dougal and his father collected water for the fairy whisky.

  He had not told her the whole of it, not yet. But she cherished his hint that someday he would tell her, and their children, the whole secret of the fairy whisky of Glen Kinloch.

  She gathered the children near again, and looked around for the direction that would lead them out of the glade and back to the glen.

  Just then, she heard a rumble begin from underneath their feet, a sound like deep thunder. The well burst forth, soaking them.

  “Dougal,” she cried. “Patrick!”

  Turning, she began to run down the hillside with the children beside her.

  Once out of the cave, Dougal and the others had turned back to drag Eldin free of the rubble and fallen stone. All of them were stunned, filthy, exhausted, and though Eldin had been injured in the collapse, he was able to limp out, shocked and silent. Stepping into the sunset light, coated in limestone dust, they hurried around the narrow lochside pathway as the thundering continued underground.

  “Fiona,” Patrick said, running beside Dougal. “And the children—trapped!”

  “They could have made it through,” Dougal said. “Fiona must have noticed the old water channel in the back of the cave, and took the chance that the passage would lead out and away.”

  “She knows rocks, that lass,” Patrick said. “And she would find a way out of the caves, if anyone could.”

  “The walls could have collapsed on them too,” Hugh said, catching up, one arm around Eldin, limping heavily beside him, looking pale and drawn. “We should go back to search for them.”

  “If they did get out, I think I know where they will be,” Dougal said. “I will go there first. If they are not there, then best we gather the lads and search the caves. We are all spent after a day of the game—but they would want to help.”

  “The whisky—“ Eldin rasped. “All of it—gone—”

  “Not all,” Hugh said. “The collapse was lower among the smaller caves. Most of the kegs are stored closer to the upper entrance. We can get them out. I am sure we are all far more concerned about Fiona and the children than the whisky.”

  “Fiona is fine. I know it,” Eldin said. “I would feel it if she is not safe.”

  Dougal turned to look at him, then met Patrick’s gaze and frowned.

  “Cousins,” Patrick explained. “Fairy blood and such. I do not seem to have it, myself. But they do.” Dougal nodded his understanding.

  “Where is the fairy brew kept?” Eldin asked. “In the caves? All ruined now?”

  “That lot is safely stored elsewhere,” Dougal answered. “But I will not sell it. Patrick, stay with Hugh and the earl. I am going after Fiona and the children.”

  He left them, hurrying through the gap between two hills. As he climbed a slope, feeling both as weary and as anxious as he had ever been in his life, somehow his legs found the strength. He could not rest until he found Fiona and the children and knew for himself that they were safe.

  Apparently Eldin felt sure that the lass and her charges were unharmed. Dougal wished he could feel so sure himself. He only knew that his heart pounded hard with worry and exhaustion, and that he had to find her, and Lucy, Jamie, and Annabel.

  Soon, behind him, he heard shouts. Turning, he saw men on horseback along the loch road, and riding across the meadow. Patrick and the others, just visible, halted to wait.

  Recognizing Tam MacIntyre with other gaugers, Dougal nodded, grim and satisfied. The law had found them, but would soon discover that they had done nothing particular that evening beyond being caught in a rock collapse caused by Lord Eldin, looking for whisky that
did not exist.

  And he felt sure that Patrick MacCarran would keep the focus on Eldin and away from the smugglers of Glen Kinloch. As for Hugh MacIan—the reverend was not a bad fellow by nature, and had been grievously misled by the earl. Dougal guessed the young reverend would be feeling great remorse—and Mary MacIan would not be letting her grandson hear the end of it.

  Turning away, Dougal walked onward.

  He would find them soon. He had to. And soon after that, he hoped, Patrick would be his brother-by-law, and a more trustworthy one he could not ask for, he thought. He could only hope that the rest of Fiona’s brothers would accept him—a poor Highland laird, wealthy only in his heart. With luck, Fiona would indeed agree to marry him. For now, he only wanted to see her safe and unharmed.

  Feeling a new burst of strength, Dougal climbed upward, breathing hard now along the steep slope, coated with dust. He moved steadily, as if he had not played to utter exhaustion at the ba’ and then, somehow, escaped a cave-in and averted a disaster. He ran now as if his life, and the lives of those he loved, depended on it.

  If they had found a way out of the caves, as he suspected they might, then they would be there, just over there, through a hidden path in a grove of trees. Reaching the crest of the hill, he paused to look around, past a tall stand of pine trees to a thick cluster of birches beyond, where a wide skirt of bluebells frothed around the tree trunks.

  “Fiona!” he called. No answer. He turned. “Fiona! Lucy!”

  Spinning again, he saw them. They appeared between the birches, walking through the blue-violet haze of flowers. She was holding hands with Lucy and Annabel, with Jamie just behind them. Golden sunset light poured over them, rosy and gleaming. They were all drenched, Dougal saw then, hair and skirts and jackets wet from the bubbling spring. And they laughing. The girls were skipping, and Lucy clutched a bouquet of bluebells in one hand. Jamie was chattering excitedly, holding up a chunk of rock for Fiona to see.

  Bluebells. They had found the bluebell wood after all. Fiona had discovered the tunnel that led to the spring, just as he had hoped she would. The fairies, he was certain, had been watching over his loved ones, guiding them. All of them.

  Laughing outright himself, with relief as well as love, he ran toward them. Fiona’s face brightened in a wider smile, and she left the children to hurry toward him. Reaching out, he took her in his arms, lifted her, spun her about, and she circled her arms around his neck. She laughed sweetly, her cheek soft against his. Around them, the children danced and jumped, giggling.

  He set her down then and kissed her, tasting heaven on her lips in a slow, soft kiss that he never wanted to end.

  “Stop kissing!” Lucy said. “Come look at this, Uncle Dougal!”

  Fiona laughed, her lips to his, and he did, too, certain in the knowledge that she was as delighted and relieved to see him, as committed to their love, as he was. He kissed her brow, her damp, dark, beautiful hair. Then he winked at Lucy.

  “My wee love,” he murmured, reaching out to touch his niece’s hair. “I feel a rich man, indeed.”

  “So rich, Uncle Dougal!” Lucy held up the bluebells clutched in her hand. “We found these for the whisky. And we found gold, too!”

  “Gold?” They nodded, Fiona and the bairns.

  “Aye, in the caves,” Jamie said. “Lots of it.”

  “Gold in the caves?” He felt astonished.

  Fiona smiled. “It runs all through the caves, I suspect. And even if you never tap all those veins, you can count yourself fortunate, for you will never need more.”

  “I need nothing more than this.” He smiled, swept a hand around to encompass all of them. He dipped his head and kissed Fiona again, while the children whooped around them in a circle.

  “Enough! We need supper,” Lucy said pragmatically, “and baths!”

  “That, my bonny lass, can be arranged. Come ahead.” Dougal shepherded all of them along, his arm around Fiona as they walked.

  “I am hungry! But who will make supper?” Jamie asked. “Uncle Fergus is a terrible cook, and Maisie went to her father’s house again.”

  “I could do that,” Fiona said.

  “We would all be most grateful if you did,” Dougal murmured. “Will you stay in the glen, then, love?”

  She smiled up at him. “I might.”

  They descended the hill together, and Dougal raised a hand to wave as he saw Fiona’s brother climbing the slope toward them, hallooing and smiling.

  Epilogue

  Fiona read another rhyme aloud for her students, and paused to listen to them recite it back to her—Gaelic to English, and English to Gaelic—and then she glanced at the door, hearing a commotion outside. Lessons had begun but half an hour ago, and it was early yet, though she had thrown open a window to the fresh spring air. Through that, she heard the rumble of voices outside. Excusing herself, she went to the door and opened it.

  Several people stood out in the yard, men and women, some older children and adolescents. She saw Neill MacDonald and his father, along with Helen MacDonald, Annabel’s mother, and several others whose names she knew, and some she did not.

  “Good morning,” she said, heart thumping anxiously, for she had no idea why so many were gathered outside the schoolhouse. She wondered, with a sudden ache, if they had come to bid her farewell. Her teaching agreement in the glen would end all too soon. “What can I do for you?”

  Mary MacIan walked through the little crowd toward her. The old woman had been saddened to learn of Hugh’s involvement with Lord Eldin, resulting in the cave collapse, and she had fair blistered him with her opinion. Hugh had apologized profusely to her, and Dougal and Fiona too, and since then had kept to his side of the glen and his kirk and parishioners. Few outside of a small group knew the truth of what had happened that day. Dougal had forgiven Hugh, but when his uncles found out, they had taken the poor reverend to task once again.

  Just then Fiona looked up, as Dougal appeared just behind Mary. Her heart bounded to see him there, as it did each time she saw him. If a day went past when they did not meet, she missed him keenly. And at that moment, as their eyes met, he seemed the only one there, all the others fading to mist around him.

  But she did not want to leave the glen, if that was why they all gathered here. Perhaps word had gone out about what had happened in the caves, and perhaps it did not matter that the laird was fond of the teacher. Perhaps they had all decided she must go, being a kinswoman to Lord Eldin, the man who would have brought ruin and tourism to their beautiful glen. But Eldin had sailed for the Continent, and would not return for a long time, so her brother said.

  Nearly a month had passed since the ba’ game, even longer since she had spent a night at Kinloch House. The time had passed quickly while Fiona taught daily lessons and answered questions about everything from the cave collapse to geology—a chance to talk about natural philosophy or science, though the rest of that story remained a secret among a few.

  She knew how occupied Dougal had been, uncovering and relocating scores of whisky casks and kegs from the rubble-filled caves. Crossing paths with him on the meadow between Kinloch House and the school, she learned that he had sold the promised amounts to merchants by night when the cutters arrived, as agreed. His honor and his word were of utmost importance to him, and she was glad to know he had been able to meet the quota, even if it involved smuggling it out.

  Some of the whisky he had sold to Eldin for an exorbitant fee, for the new hotel that soon would welcome tourists. Eldin, leaving for a holiday abroad and aware that his reputation as an earl and peer could be harmed by rumors of the disaster in the caves, had asked that his disgraceful behavior never be mentioned. The others had quietly agreed.

  Her cousin was trying to make amends, Fiona knew, although she might never trust him again. He was like a hawk, an untamed bird of prey that could be cooperative as long as it suited and was convenient, but had an unpredictable wild side that would never be fully agreeable.

&nbs
p; Looking at Dougal now, and the crowd gathered behind him, her heart fluttered—did they truly want to wish her farewell so soon? In her daydreams, she had longed for an invitation to stay here—forever. But she had not found her chance to answer Dougal’s question about marriage.

  And to her disappointment, he had not asked again. Had he finally decided that it was best she return to Edinburgh, while he returned to smuggling and a bachelor life? She dreaded it was so. Had he made up his mind—or was he waiting for her to decide? She had not wanted to push the matter, enjoying the time they were taking lately to get to know one another better.

  Now she stepped over the threshold, brushing chalk dust from her skirts and clasping her hands. Her students left their seats, one by one, to come to the door behind her, and follow her out into the clearing.

  As Fiona and the students approached, Dougal leaned down to listen as Mary MacIan murmured to him. He nodded.

  “Fiona MacCarran, teacher in the glen,” Mary said in Gaelic. Fiona knew that some of those here, come down from the hills, did not have much English. “These people want a word with you.”

  She nodded, tightening her hands, glancing at Dougal. He watched calmly, silently. “Aye, what is it?” she asked.

  “We want to know if you will teach us,” Mary said.

  Fiona blinked in surprise. “Teach you?”

  “Some of us want to learn to read English,” Mary said. “Some must learn to sign our names, and some of us want to speak more English. And a couple of these rascals need to be able to read their own arrest warrants.” A ripple of laughter sounded. “And so we want to join your class.”

  Stunned, Fiona glanced at Dougal, who nodded slowly, silently.

  “I would be honored to teach you, all of you,” she answered in Gaelic. Several of the folks gathered nodded, pleased, and murmured to one another. “But just now the schoolhouse is full, with twelve scholars. And the roof leaks. I hear it must be replaced soon or it will fall down upon our heads. And . . . my teaching arrangement will end soon. I will be leaving the glen.” She dared not glance at Dougal, who stood listening calmly.